The soul of friendship
by MouldyBubbles
Summary: Hermione Granger is a lonely and isolated girl, entering her third year at Hogwarts. As she prepares to face another year of taunts, bullying and loneliness, a chance encounter with an equally lonely spirit begins her on the path to healing, but sometimes
1. Chapter 1: The Shadow and the Ghost

AN: Just a brief note that this story will be AU in a number of ways, but most importantly, a lot of the canonical events of the books will naturally change or be gone entirely. The reasons for this are related to the plot I have in mind, so hopefully they'll become clearer as we progress. Additionally, Harry will have a presence, and a big one, later on, but initially, as some of you have already noticed, he seems to be AWOL. Again, there is a reason that will become clearer in time. For now, I'll have to put on my half-moon spectacles and ask you to trust me without any real reason to do so at all ;) With that said, I hope you enjoy what is my first attempt at any form of fan fiction, and please do keep your suggestions and critique coming, it's always welcome!

 **Early 1940s, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Under the flickering light of a haphazard row of wall sconces, a small, broken body lay, barely visible. The faint illumination was sufficient only to see the small gasp of surprise frozen onto the bespectacled features of a lifeless girl, lying in a pool of water and congealed blood emanating from a small blow to the back of her head as her body had struck the tiles of the floor. An unnatural darkness blanketed around her lifeless form, pulsing with energy. Within that darkness, just above her, was a shadow of unimaginable blackness, that made the darkness around its' fallen victim seem as a torchlight compared to the sun.

The darkness shifted slightly, and then seemed to fumble. It was holding a wand, which now clattered to the wet tiles beneath it, rolling to a stop beside the face of its latest victim. The shadow should have been exultant; the ritual was successful, wasn't it? But instead, pure energy continued to pulse around the shadow angrily, until it seemed to rattle the glass of the mirrors above the washbasins lining the room.

"Damn, what...?"

The shadow stumbled and fell to the floor, panting heavily.

"I don't understand, this isn't right!" screamed the shadow, and the pulsing darkness around it raged into life, shattering stone, marble, tile and glass; a raging torrent of destruction engulfed it, stormed for a few moments and, just as suddenly, fell still and silent, before collapsing to the floor along with the shadow within it.

"That damned ritual took me years to discover, all for NOTHING!"

The pulsing darkness gave a final, enormous burst of energy, disintegrating almost everything around it, including the lifeless corpse of the sacrifice, before finally, it was gone. In its place, pale and exhausted, panted the seemingly innocuous form of Tom Riddle, and visible behind him, now that the dark energy had abated, was an enormous snake-like creature, whose form took up nearly the entire bathroom behind it. It flicked its' long tail in agitation at the destruction its master had just wrought, and how close it had come itself to being harmed by it, and began to hiss menacingly.

"You will be silent, beast, and return to the chamber. I need to be alone."

The snake stared at the back of the boy with a look of rage, before turning and beginning to slide itself back down the entrance of the chamber of secrets, leaving the boy behind, and unsure even now if it should be terrified of its master, or see him as the petulant child he now appeared to be.

The boy named Tom Riddle stood up and thoughtlessly vanished the dirt and destruction coating himself, and the room around him. Wandless magic was ever a talent he liked to practice, and he did so without even thinking these days. After a few moments, he moved to the washbasin to drink.

"What went wrong? I did it all perfectly. Should I have killed the girl myself?" he muttered to himself, staring at the distorted features in the mirror. Only then did he realise his face had...changed. Where once was a handsome young man, now stared back...well, something different. It was hard to place, but the handsome features now appeared more waxen, more falsified, as though they were a half hearted glamour gone wrong.

"My face...perhaps it worked after all? Physical distortion...wasn't that a possible side-effect? But then, where is my soul? Why is this ring empty!" Without thinking, Tom Riddle threw the ring into the basin, pointed his wand at it, and blasted it out of existence. That was proof enough, it could not have been banished if the ritual had worked, not with simple magic of that nature, no matter how powerful he was.

"What am I going to do now?!" Riddle raged out loud, before taking a steadying breath, and bringing his emotions back into check. It wouldn't do to catch the attention of a passing student or, worse yet, teacher, outside the bathroom. Clearly, he needed to think; Horcruxes, for all their promise, had failed. For what reason, he could not say, and if one of his genius could not see a reason, then none could. He would have to try something else if he hoped to survive.

Picking his wand back up, Tom Riddle surveyed the bathroom again, ensuring all appeared as it should, and turned, striding right back out of the bathroom for all the world as though he had not just committed an act of murder there. He didn't notice the silvery form that had begun to coalesce behind him, or the look of pure loathing it was now directing at his retreating back.

Lying on his bed in the Slytherin dorm, Tom Riddle puzzled his options. It would not be long now before the girl was discovered missing. True, with how unpopular she was, he would have imagined it would be a good week before any real investigation began, but if Riddle had learned one thing, it was to never make assumptions. Especially not with that infuriating Transfiguration professor shadowing his footsteps.

He relaxed himself onto his sheets, and closed his eyes. It was time to commune with his magic. He liked to think of it as drawing inspiration from within, as a kind of simple self-reflection; in truth, it was more akin to seeking the answers to the immortality he desperately craved, from the only thing that might have any knowledge of it: the soul itself.

Almost immediately, he jumped back up to a sitting position, eyes wide.

"What was that!" he hissed, his entire body burning as though on fire. His meditation had never had that effect before, almost as though...but it surely couldn't...

He lay down again, and more cautiously, begun to probe his 'inner-self' again. When he found it, truly found it, Tom Riddle did something he had never before done in his entire life: he cried.

"What happened! What is this mutilated...thing!" he screamed out loud, thankful immediately he had silenced the area around him. He just couldn't grasp it. The thing that greeted him when he began to focus again, well, it just wasn't right. It was him, but it had mutated in a manner he never imagined. It was as though he were staring into the eyes of a black hole; full of nothing but emptiness itself. And yet...it felt almost...right. Like he was finally seeing what he was meant to see in himself.

Forcing himself to hold back his disgust, he began to commune with the shadow, seeking the advice he desperately craved, the alternate path to immortality he had to have.

Every moment of his meditation had been agony, but Tom Riddle, twenty hours later, for all the pain, the aches, and the enormous migraine splintering his brain, was smiling.

"I have the answer, the only question is, who is worthy?" he thought to himself. He thought of all the families of the so-called purebloods around him. They simply wouldn't do. For all his show of pureblood mania, Riddle never truly held any stock in it. He was, after all, the living embodiment of the falseness of that idiotic belief. Perhaps then, one like himself? Halfblood, perhaps even muggleborn!

He further considered his options, even including the other houses in the school, but none seemed suitable. Perhaps he would have to wait. This, after all, could wait and in fact, the answer he'd found would benefit if he waited, grew his power, expanded his knowledge. Yes, that would be a better idea. No need to act hastily again, especially after what happened in the bathroom last night.

"No need to act hastily at all; for now, the mask of Tom Riddle will suffice" he murmured to himself, and began to smile more broadly; it was, after he applied a glamour to 'correct' the changes of last night, a rather pleasant looking mask. He scarcely even noticed how much his smile had changed, and how truly terrifying his appearance had become when he wore it. The smile of the darkest kind, the smile of the shadow.

 **August 31, 1993, Banbury, Oxfordshire**

For Hermione Jean Granger, August 31st had become in the last two years a date anticipated with a mixture of part-excitement, part-dread. Every year, it became even harder to discern which of the two was the most dominant in her heart.

When she had received her letter informing her she was a witch, she had been more than a little offended and suspicious at first; after all she was no fool, and was not willing to accept the claims of a simple letter without more proof to go on. She was equally unhappy, to put it mildly, to be referred to as a 'Witch', she got enough of that sort of thing at school. Needless to say, when Professor McGonagall had arrived soon after, transfigured her mum's favourite china set into a full singing and dancing performance of Nutcracker, then described in depth the world she was entering and the rules and expectations she was expected to observe, she had been suitably convinced (and more than a little desperate to learn how to do that 'transfiguration' herself, though she was not a particular fan of classics). Still, her predominant feelings on that day had been liberating: the joy of discovering she truly was different, though not in the way her bullying classmates had thought and more than that, the promise of a new start, possibly even a better life, had been an intoxicating combination. She could never remember a moment that had defined her so clearly as that, or that had brought her so much joy.

To think that now she was considering even abandoning the magical world altogether was a truly extraordinary turn of events. She knew in her heart she could never really do it; she was after all, determined to prove herself and to see the faces of Malfoy, Weasley, Chang et al stunned and infuriated by her successes in her exams was more than a little enjoyable as a prospect for the future. But more than that, she couldn't bear to leave one world behind, only to re-enter another that held even less promise for her future.

For all her talent, her skill and intelligence, Hermione's only real ambition was the simplest and easiest of all, but had proven by far the most impossible to achieve: real friendship and trust. Sure, she had her parents, and loved them dearly, but it wasn't the same as having someone you could talk to, really talk to, about all the small things in life that moved them as teenagers: gossip about other girls, chats about classes, cooing together in Care of Magical Creatures over Pygmy Puffs and handsome Hippogriffs, and yes, even perhaps the occasional chats about boys, though for Hermione there were none really to chat about. At least, none who didn't treat her in a way so wretched that the thought of fancying them was unthinkable.

For her now, isolated in her room at home, revisiting her trunk for the fiftieth time that half hour to check her homework and belongings were in order, she had more time than she cared for to mull over all these things. But, Hermione was determined as she had done before not to dwell on it. If she could just single-mindedly focus on her studies, that would be enough. For now.

 **September 1** st, 1993, Platform 9 ¾, King's Cross, London

"Take care of yourself darling, and do try not to get yourself too upset again. Think positive! All those new first years you can make an impression on!"

Jess Granger was fussing over her daughter, giving her a deep and reassuring hug, doing her best to perk her up before they said goodbye again until Christmas. This moment of parting never failed to tear Jean up, but she always held it back to be strong for Hermione. She knew her little girl would hardly be feeling any better about the parting.

"Take it easy love, she's almost as ruffled as those owls near the carriage" mumbled the tall and broad-shouldered man beside them.

"Don't pretend you're not going to do the same thing the moment I let her go Dan!" Jean shot back playfully, wrapping her daughter tighter for a final moment, before releasing her. Sure enough, Dan Granger soon had his little girl wrapped in his arms too, and if anything, even more tightly.

"Daaad, that hurts!" muttered Hermione, though it was clear she didn't really mean it. She truly loved it when her parents hugged her like this, it was a simple expression of companionship and love she sorely missed when at Hogwarts, and she intended to savour it every time.

"Sorry Mione, but I have to get my fair share of hugging out of you too!" Dan said into her bushy mane, glad it was preventing him seeing the triumphant smirk he could almost feel his wife giving him.

After a few moments, Dan released his little girl, and gave her a wide smile, before moving back with his wife from the waiting train; their silent signal it was time their daughter boarded. Hermione couldn't help but feel a pang of loss at this. She knew it was time to board, after all, the train was only a minute or so from departure, but she still felt the small, but real, feeling of terror that she might not see her parents again, that they might simply leave the country without her someday. In her heart, she knew this could never happen, but her mind, ever working, couldn't help but imagine it, when so many others in her past had abandoned her especially adults who were meant to help her, like her old teachers in muggle school.

After waving a few more moments, she gave a final, exaggerated wave to her smiling parents, before turning and boarding the Hogwarts Express, to begin the usual hunt for an empty compartment. Pulling her trunk behind her, she made her way down the corridors, scanning each compartment briefly, in an effort not to meet the eyes of anyone who might be inside. Tomorrow, she would be ready to deal with the taunts, insults and physical hurt, but today, she needed time to again adjust to the absence of her parents, of the only emotional support she had.

Finally, she located an empty compartment, and dropped into it with relief, loading her belongings onto the overhead rack, and settling in for the journey. She was just preparing to choose a book to bury herself in for the trip when the compartment door slid open following a brief knock, and in rushed a girl she recognised, but didn't know by name, with silvery hair, and a somewhat strange expression on her face. She looked both panicked and, strangely, as though she was a million miles away at the same time.

"Hi, do you mind if I sit in here? I'm being chased, but I don't think they'll follow me here" the silver-haired girl rushed out breathlessly, and without waiting for Hermione's reply, sat down opposite her, stacking her trunk and numerous copies of some form of newspaper in front of the windows to the compartment.

"Um, not that I mind exactly, but you do realise if someone was looking for you, seeing those papers stacked up to the ceiling against the windows would probably be a good clue; as far as I know, nobody in the school reads it!" Hermione muttered back, recognising the stacks to be 'The Quibbler', a paper she heard was more of a joke than a paper. She couldn't help but feel that she was about to be set up for yet another prank, and her gaze at the newcomer was as much suspicious as it was confused.

"Oh, I didn't think of that, but that shouldn't matter, I don't think they'll come this far down the train anyway" the silver-haired girl said, her voice dropping a little with each word, forcing Hermione to strain to hear her.

"Well, if you're sure..."

Hermione shrugged, and pulled out her favourite book on ancient runes, before promptly burying herself in it as planned. She inwardly muttered to herself that her one moment of peace before school had already been ruined, and gave herself a mental kick for choosing this compartment. Still, all she could do now was be as quiet and invisible as possible. If only that ever worked...

"You're Hermione Granger"

Hermione lowered the book slightly, eyebrows almost reaching her bushy fringe.

"Um, yeah, I know" she replied uncertainly, already connecting the dots and beginning to think that this strange girl might well be the 'Loony Lovegood' she heard so much about. The presence of the Quibbler simply confirmed her suspicions. "If the shoe fits" she thought to herself, before attempting to drop back into the book again, only to be once more interrupted.

"You know, if you want to hide, you could always borrow some of my Quibblers. They're good reading too, so you would be both hidden and having fun!"

Hermione seriously doubted that, and doubted even more that building a Hermione-shaped cocoon of Quibblers would help. If anything, it would just make her life worse if Malfoy walked in while she was in it. Wait, why was she even entertaining this idea anyway?!

"Thanks, but I'm fine" she muttered back, before settling back into her book, thankfully uninterrupted this time. It was going to be a very long train ride...

 **Mid-October 1993, Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, Hogwarts**

The tears just wouldn't stop, and after slamming herself into a cubicle in one of the second floor girl's bathrooms for the fourth time that week, Hermione no longer cared to try to stop them anyway. Angry, frustrated sobs emerged between almost every other breath, as she tried desperately to calm herself down. She just couldn't keep going any longer, this was too much, far too much. It had been bad enough being ridiculed by Professor Snape for trying to answer his questions on the Wiggenwald Potion they had been preparing to brew, but being hexed in the back by Weasley as she left the class had been too much, and she couldn't hide her sadness any longer.

She was so upset, she didn't even notice the blue transparent head, bobbing over the top of the door of the cubicle to glare at her. It was therefore with a good deal of surprise and pain that she shrieked, jumped, and banged her arms into the toilet paper dispenser when the blue head snapped at her bitterly, "Hey, this is my bathroom, and the only one who has permission to moan and cry in here is me!"

Hermione swore and began rubbing her elbow where it had connected with the dispenser, blinked back fresh tears, this time of pain, while glaring up at the head over the cubicle door.

"Just what makes you in charge of this bathroom!" Hermione spat back, not bothering to hide the venom and irritation in her voice at being not only terrified out of her wits, but spied on during a moment of such vulnerability.

"Uh, well apart from this being Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and my being Myrtle, it should be obvious I'm in charge here! Just who are you, anyway?!" the ghost spat back with equal venom.

Hermione sighed and ran her hands over her face. Of course, it was only now she realised this was indeed Myrtle's bathroom...well, it wasn't hers as such, but she insisted on haunting it and being a real pain to anyone who used it, so...

"Look, I didn't realise that, I just wanted privacy, and this was the nearest place I could find, OK?" she said, weariness beginning to overtake the shock and anger as the adrenaline began to leave her system. At least it had stopped her crying, that was at least one positive outcome of this situation.

"Oh really? Well, unless you're camping outside the door, that can't be true. You've been in here almost every day this week so far! Hardly coincidence I think!" Myrtle glared at her, hands on her hips, and shimmering with irritation. Hermione had to admit that although she'd told the truth this time, she couldn't deny the previous 'visits' had been precisely because nobody else used the bathroom. Somehow, she'd hoped Myrtle wouldn't notice or care.

Myrtle continued to glare at her, but Hermione seemed to be unaffected by it, or at least too tired to care, and began to make her way over to the washbasins to splash herself with cool water and clear her head.

"What are you even moping about for anyway? It's not like you're the one who has to spend forever in this place!" Myrtle grumbled, seeming to be calming down herself. Hermione was, at least, thankful for that.

"It's nothing, I just...I needed a minute" Hermione muttered back, trying and failing to get the taps in the basin working. Figures they'd be broken, she didn't think even the house elves came in here, judging by the muck everywhere.

"Why? Let me guess: your boyfriend is ignoring you? No, wait, maybe your friends have all gone somewhere without you? How awful! At least you have friends, you don't have to spend all eternity haunting an empty room with no one else to keep you company but a bunch of cracked mirrors and toilets!" Myrtle had begun to work herself into one of her (many) tantrums, and Hermione was just about at the end of her tether.

"You know what? Just go away! You don't know anything about me, and as for friends and boyfriends, you probably have had more experience in that since you've been here than I ever have!" Hermione shouted back, really losing her temper now. She didn't even bother to register Myrtle literally beginning to swell with rage. "Do you think if I had anyone else I'd even be wasting my time shouting at a damned ghost!" Hermione was all but screaming now and, wrenching one of the long rusted and broken taps from the washbasin beside her, threw it straight at Myrtle, with of course, no effect whatsoever.

A dull clatter echoed through the bathroom as it hit the wall across the room and dropped to the floor. Strangely, Myrtle didn't say anything, just stared at her with an almost curious expression, her previous apparent inflation of her 'body' having now reverted back to her original shape and size.

"Forget it, I'm going!" Hermione muttered, before turning and marching to the door.

"Wait...just a minute"

Hermione stopped, unsure if she had really heard what she thought she heard. She'd been expecting more insults, not something that almost sounded like a plea. To her own surprise, she turned and stood, staring at Myrtle, awaiting her response.

"Well?" she grumbled, her arms crossed, "Hurry up and give me your best shot, or I'll just go."

Myrtle continued to gaze at her for a moment, before finally muttering "So you're like me, then?"

Hermione wasn't sure she heard that right, and asked Myrtle to repeat it.

"You're like me, aren't you? Or like I was, I guess still am but..." Myrtle's voice dropped to a whisper, and Hermione finally began to calm, curiosity replacing her earlier fury. She almost felt sorry for the pained expression the ghost girl was directing at the floor beneath them.

"What do you mean?" Hermione finally asked, after deciding Myrtle wasn't going to say anything more without a good prodding.

"I just...I haven't, I mean, well...look, if you're really hiding from horrible people, you can stay. I know all about that feeling, like you can't escape" Myrtle looked like a hint of contemplation had mixed with the near-permanent state of soulful sorrow that usually graced her transparent features. Hermione uncrossed her arms, and for the first time, asked a question that wasn't either bitter or angry.

"What do you mean, Myrtle?"

"I just know what it's like, OK? I mean, I don't want you to bother me too often, but if you have to come in here, I guess I don't mind" Myrtle replied, her voice a bit louder and more sure of herself this time, though still looking thoughtful.

"Well, thanks I guess. If you want, we could...?" Hermione began, before Myrtle cut her off.

"Talk about it? Not really, believe me, while I think I know a bit about what you're going through now, you don't know anything about me." Or why I'm here, she muttered virtually silently, such that Hermione couldn't hear her.

"Well, if you're sure, I mean, I won't bother you or anything, but...well, I don't exactly have anyone else to talk to, and if you want, I mean, we could try, it might help?" Hermione asked uncertainly, and trying not to hyperventilate as she realised she was offering almost the hand of friendship to a girl, no, ghost, who she had up until now never met or cared the slightest bit about. It was an unfamiliar thing to do, and shocked her almost as much as it did Myrtle.

Myrtle's eyes almost, almost, seemed to light up slightly at this, and she nodded slowly, before speaking one more time.

"It won't, but I guess I appreciate the offer...maybe I'll even take you up on it." Myrtle gave an almost imperceptible smile, before beginning to float away. She stopped one final time and said, more clearly this time, "but I warn you, there's a reason people don't talk to me, and if I told you even half of the things I've seen...that have happened to me..." Myrtle gave the first really open and honest emotional display to Hermione that she had so far, besides simple anger, and it made Hermione shudder.

As she left the bathroom to make her way back to the common room, amidst the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions she was feeling from today, not least her shock at having almost had a conversation with someone, even if a ghost, that hadn't ended in more crying, Hermione could only focus on one thing: what could Myrtle have seen in her years here that had made her look so utterly terrified?

As much as it made Hermione shudder to think of the possibilities of what could scare a ghost, she shook it off. After all, she felt certain she'd need use of that bathroom again, and maybe, just maybe, for the first time at Hogwarts, she wouldn't be all alone when she did.


	2. Chapter 2: Memories and Serpents

**October 1993, Malfoy Manor, Lake District**

 _The echoing footsteps were the first indication to the robed men beside the door to the main hall of the masked figure striding towards them. Ordinarily, anyone approaching them would be nervous at best, but the purposeful and confident gait made it clear to them that this had to be the master of the house himself, well, the original master anyway. Drawing closer to them, he nodded to the figure to his left and greeted him._

" _Avery, I see you've clearly made yourself at home with the dining hall."_

 _The figure named Avery bristled at the jibe, but knew better than to retort. It would not do to be distracted from his duty, Lestrange was known to quickly pick up on any failings, and took to the punishment with a relish that few even among his fellows would have shared._

" _Lucius, you're expected"_

" _Naturally" nodded the masked man, and without even asking their permission, swept past them, the doors opening at his approach._

" _Hmph, git" mumbled Avery, careful not to let his voice carry, and sealing the door quickly behind Lucius, "well, rather him than me". Their master had been irritable as of late, and given his already less than friendly demeanour, that was saying something._

 _Inside the hall, Lucius Malfoy paused only to remove his mask, as he made his way confidently through it and past all the familiar trappings of wealth that adorned it: tapestries, suits of armour embellished with gold trimmings, and, less pleasing to his sense of aesthetic, the two columns of Death Eaters, lining either side of the way to the main table, who had taken up guard duty there. Steeling himself as he approached his master's table, he noted with some concern the giant, emerald-green snake coiled around a supporting pillar, just beside her master. He didn't fail to notice the beast's eyes never left him from the moment he had entered, and it appeared to slightly tense around the pillar. "Never a good sign" he sighed to himself in his mind, before completely closing down his emotions and clearing his head. It was never good to arrive at an audience in anything other than an image of calm stoicism and duty._

 _As he reached the table, he bowed onto one knee, facing the floor and said clearly and crisply "Master, I report to you as you requested, and have news to deliver."_

 _The figure he addressed sat at the head of the table, naturally, and for all the world looked like he truly was the master of this house. His handsome features and dark hair, reaching to his shoulders, gave him the appearance of a middle-aged man who ought to have had more than a share of mistresses at hand, as was the custom in pureblood tradition. That impression was only deepened when considering the fine robes that adorned him, of exquisite emerald and black colouring. He was otherwise modestly dressed, with not a ring or jewel in sight. His master now raised his head from the papers he was poring over, and caught Lucius' eyes with his own, boring into them for a moment, before he finally, emotionlessly, spoke._

" _Ah, Lucius. Do sit down, I've been expecting you."_

 _Recognising the command for what it was, Lucius took a seat at the other end of the table, hands folded on the top, knowing his master mistrusted any who hid their hands when speaking with him. He made a point too of placing his wand on the table, out of easy reach, as a mark of respect and submission._

 _Knowing his master was waiting for Lucius to begin, he got to the heart of the matter._

" _Recruitment has proven very successful, my Lord. I can happily inform you that we have managed to complete the training of a new group of hopefuls for your personal guard, as well as others more suited to fieldwork."_

 _His master nodded slightly, but gave no other indication as to his thoughts, and so Lucius continued on._

" _I can also report that we have successfully infiltrated the Department for Magical Law Enforcement again, following last year's discovering of our previous agents. The new 'recruits' have been fully imperiused, given the usual test for any possible resistance, and deployed back to their jobs in that agency."_

 _Again, a slight nod, and he knew immediately from the look in his master's eyes that he was pleased. He hoped the next report wouldn't sour that too much._

" _I do, however, have to report one issue. Your 'backup plan' has displayed some...difficulties with accepting imperius control, and we had to use four separate casts of that spell to re-establish our control over him completely. He is fully compliant, but I have as a precaution assigned a greater number of Death Eaters to keep watch over him."_

 _Lucius waited with no small measure of fear, which he carefully concealed, as the green eyes of his master stared into his own. He felt a small probing in his mind, and immediately lowered his occlumency shielding to allow his master in. He could break in anyway, but it was an unwise man who refused the Dark Lord anything. After a few moments of this unpleasant sensation of violation, his master released his probe and shifted to stand up, moving over to the snake which was still staring right at Lucius. An unintelligible hissing broke out between them._

" _Nagini, I require you for this. You must accompany Lucius back to the boy. I want you to personally oversee him every waking moment, and the moment he shows any sign of non-compliance again, kill him."_

 _The snake shifted its' gaze into the eyes of the master and, though Lucius should be used to it by now, he couldn't help but be surprised that it nodded to the Dark Lord before, to his mounting horror, slithering over to where Lucius now sat. His master turned back to Lucius and addressed him again._

" _No need for concern, my friend. You have done well as always, and shown considerable courage in reporting this failure to me. I do not hold you personally responsible, and have no intention in pointlessly breaking the will of the only one of my servants who shows the slightest initiative or courage. Rise, Lucius, and stand before me."_

 _Lucius all but jumped to his feet, and stood the expected three foot distance before the Dark Lord, standing sharply at attention._

" _Nagini here has kindly agreed to accompany you back to the boy, and to keep a close eye on him for us. Not that I doubt your abilities so much, rather that I feel more comfortable with certainty on my side. It is, after all, a fool that relies on probability and pride."_

" _Of course, my Lord," Lucius responded, his expression never changing, "I will be honoured if Nagini will join us."_

" _That you will, my friend. However, before you go, I want to make one thing clear to you regarding our backup." As he spoke, the Dark Lord's eyes seemed to change, becoming less green, more dark and threatening. Lucius sweated slightly at the power radiating from his master as he spoke his final words to him._

" _If the boy shows even the slightest resistance again, you will kill him, if Nagini has not already done so. I will not let this potential asset become a potential threat and you of all people know how seriously I take this threat. Do not fail, Lucius."_

 _With that, Lucius knew he was dismissed and, after bowing once more, turned and left the hall, his mind full of concern. He knew how important this boy could be to their cause, and yet, somehow, Lucius couldn't help but suspect he would never, really, be theirs._

" _Especially not if he ever finds out where he came from" he muttered to himself, before realising his error as Nagini, slithering alongside him, turned her head to stare at him. No, better to trust in the Dark Lord. Have faith, and let destiny do the rest._

 **Early December 1993, Myrtle's Bathroom, Hogwarts**

Hermione couldn't help but giggle at Myrtle's antics, as she made a point of emphasising the latest punchline to one of her (many) stories about former students she had scared off, by splashing head first into one of the toilets, before bursting out of another, wailing and pulling a hideous face.

"So then, she wet herself, really wet herself, right there in the cubicle, and it was a bit less funny for me then considering she was sat on the toilet _I_ was trying to scare her away from!"

Hermione could hardly breathe, and felt glad she was sat with her back to the wall, or she might have collapsed onto her knees, which she had done before in this bathroom, and still had the graze marks where she had hit the rough tiling of the floor.

"Myrtle, I really, _really_ , think that's enough. At this rate, the prefects will wonder what we're up to!" Hermione said, somewhat breathlessly, before beginning to calm herself back down and wipe her eyes on her sleeves.

"Well, if you say so." Myrtle replied, grinning as she burst out of the toilet a final time, sending a cascade of water over half the room (thankfully, not Hermione's half!), before floating over to settle down in front of Hermione, smiling at her.

For Myrtle, these last couple of months had been a revelation, like the opening of the sunlight into a dark and dusty room. A reminder, or rather a proof of the fact that, truly, she wasn't the only one who had suffered at the hands of bullies. Secretly, she felt a little ashamed at having wallowed in self-pity for literal decades after death, though she knew Hermione didn't judge her for that. Indeed, Hermione had been the picture-perfect companion since their first encounter in October and showed every promise of maybe, just maybe, being a real friend too. The thought made her heart, or soul, or whatever it was inside her now, glow with hope.

For Hermione, in turn, the meeting of the two of them had been an enormous release of pressure in her heart and mind; gone were the endless nights spent wishing she could be home with her parents, not that she didn't still miss them, but still. The thought that she could always come here, and that she and Myrtle could share these simple, silly, pointless and yet endlessly rewarding moments of laughter was a treasure she had never hoped she could ever really find. The fact her new-found friend, if friends they really were, was a ghost, meant nothing to Hermione, and she knew that Myrtle knew that, and appreciated her all the more because of it.

"OK Myrtle, now that we've wasted about three gallons of water, _again_ , are you going to tell me why you wanted me to come along today? Not that I'm not always here as it is already, but it's not like you to do the asking!" Hermione said, somewhat teasingly, to Myrtle, bracing herself for the furious reply which of course didn't fail to come.

"Oh really? As I recall, the first time we met I specifically asked _you_ not to moan in 'Moaning Myrtle's bathroom'. I think that counts!" Myrtle shot back, her eyes all but sparkling with amusement.

"Point taken, a Ravenclaw knows when she's been outplayed." Hermione replied, her amusement rising again, which she had to stifle a little, as she really was curious, "but seriously, what's up Myrtle? It really isn't like you to be so keen to see me."

"Well, it's a bit of a difficult thing to talk about but I thought..." Myrtle's heart, if it were possible for it to race, certainly would have begun to now, "well, I wondered if you know how I ended up here?"

Hermione was more than a little shocked, she hadn't expected this! She was expecting maybe a request to stop the Weasley twins, Gred and Forge was it? Well, she thought Myrtle would want Hermione to stop them 'experimenting' in the cubicles again. She really didn't know how to react to this topic, but knew that she had to be sensitive, Myrtle was nothing if not easily hurt.

"If you want to share it Murr, then I'm of course happy to hear it, well, not happy to hear you died or..." Hermione could have kicked herself, here was her inability to get her words right biting her in the arse again! Fortunately, Myrtle knew enough now to know Hermione wasn't trying to be rude.

"Don't worry about it" Myrtle replied, in a brighter tone than she felt, "but if you want to hear it, I can actually show you."

Hermione was surprised at this, she didn't think it was possible to view a memory outside of a pensieve, and you needed a living human temple to draw the memory from in the first place, so far as she knew anyway.

"How would you do that?" she asked.

"Well, I can re-enact it for you. Not like the way I did with the toilets," Myrtle smirked, before dropping back into a serious tone, "but I will give you a fair warning. I didn't die in my sleep."

Hermione grimaced inside at this. She hadn't ever really considered how Myrtle had died, and had assumed natural causes. The way Myrtle was framing this sounded bad, really bad. She wasn't sure if she was ready to see something so horrible but, for her new _friend_ , and oh my did it feel good to use that word, even if only inside at the moment, she was willing to try for her _friend_.

"Murr...Myrtle, if you're willing to show me, I promise, I will watch it right to the end, but I'll admit I'm not sure how to deal with this sort of thing."

Myrtle watched Hermione for a moment, before nodding to herself, having apparently come to a decision.

"OK Mione, I'll show you, but I'll warn you of this much: I was murdered."

Blank shock and a deep feeling in her gut of abject horror were all the response Hermione could give to this simple, emotionlessly delivered statement of fact. She had of course, deep down, suspected the possibility, but to have it confirmed was another matter entirely. Still...

"Murr I'll do my best, but if I run away during it, please please please don't be offended. I'm smart, not brave, as you know well enough by now!" Hermione finally said, trying to keep the mood as upbeat as was possible given the subject, while also being honest.

"I don't think that final part is entirely true, but I know it's possible, and wouldn't blame you if you do run away. If you're sure, I can 'project' my memory into your head. I don't really know how it works though." Myrtle replied.

"Project?" Hermione asked blankly. She'd never heard of anything like this. "You mean, like, show it to me in my head?"

Myrtle seemed to consider the question, before shrugging and replying "Not exactly. I don't know how it works, but back in...was it the 60's? I forget, but a long time ago I was being teased, again, by a particularly irritating little moron of a fourth year Gryffindor, not unlike your 'Ron Weasley', who seemed to think that my being dead was somehow a mark against me. He made it his mission to try and 'scare' me out of the school and eventually, I decided to really try and force him to stop. I went to grab him, but as I did, our souls sort of...connected."

"Connected?" Hermione asked blankly. She was not happy with this feeling of confusion and lack of an answer, but it would hardly be the first time she had been left stumped by Myrtle. "You mean, like lovers?"

Myrtle began to swell up in the way she always did when she was really mad, and were it a few weeks ago, would surely have screamed at Hermione. Now though, she seemed to catch herself halfway and 'deflated' again, though she still looked angry.

"No, Hermione, _not_ like lovers. I might not know how _that_ would feel, but it wouldn't be like this. It was more like I was forcing myself into him, and making him see what I wanted. I made him see the worst things I could imagine, and he literally wet himself before I finally let him go. I imagine the same thing could be done but with a memory, though I haven't ever tried it since."

Hermione rubbed the back of her head thoughtfully, biting her lip. She could, maybe, handle a pensieve like experience to see Myrtle's death. But the way this sounded, she'd experience it _as_ Myrtle directly. She wasn't at all sure she was ready for this.

"Myrtle..." Hermione began, but Myrtle cut her off, seeing her hesitation.

"Forget it Hermione, it was just an idea, and a stupid one, sorry for bringing it up" Myrtle muttered, looking if possible more despondent than she'd ever been. Hermione couldn't bear to see that look of rejection, and made her final decision.

"Myrtle" she said firmly, Myrtle's head snapping up to look at her just from the tone, "show me. If I can't take it, you'll know, and I know you'll stop if I have to get away."

Myrtle simply floated in place, stunned by the confident declaration Hermione had given her. She knew that tone however, and that her friend had clearly made up her mind. She regretted ever bringing the idea up, but knew Hermione would not let the matter rest until Myrtle showed her the memory. Nodding slightly, she floating down towards Hermione.

"Last chance" she whispered by Hermione's ear, as she held out her pale arms to envelop her friend, and she now knew that Hermione really, truly was her friend. Her first, and for the rest of time she knew, her best.

"Do it Myrtle" Hermione replied, her tone wavering ever so slightly, but the look she gave Myrtle was permission enough. Reaching out, Myrtle moved directly into Hermione, focusing on the memory, and sure enough, it began to play out.

 **Later that night, The Third Year Ravenclaw Dormitory, Hogwarts**

Hermione just couldn't stop shaking. She had hoped her calming draught would knock it back, but every time she stopped to think, the shaking became uncontrollable once more, and she couldn't risk an overdose, which could be lethal.

She just couldn't process what she had seen. She knew Myrtle hadn't lied to her, what she had seen was exactly what had happened. That fact though only made Hermione shake harder, and the feeling of terror, pain, and complete sorrow for her friend were almost overwhelming. She had always wondered why Myrtle didn't move on, and now, she knew.

One thought chased her around her own head, penetrated her mind, her soul, even, and left Hermione with a single object of obsession, that meant she knew she had to find the answer, no matter how long it took: Why did Myrtle have to die, and who was that boy? No, that _thing,_ she'd never experienced anything like it. She knew in her rational mind that the perception of the killer as a dark shadow had to be psychologically induced on Myrtle's part. That sort of thing just wasn't possible.

But, possible or not, it would not be giant snakes, magic rings, rituals or the destruction she had seen in that bathroom that would be with her for the days, weeks, perhaps even months or years to come. It was that face. Like a monster right out of one of the horror films her mum always banned her from watching, but which she always secretly recorded so that she could watch them alone later. She knew she had to find out who that face belonged to. She had to know, not just for herself, but for Myrtle. Myrtle deserved an answer, the killer deserved justice.

It felt strange to consider that she and Myrtle, both loners in every sense of the word until now, could have opened themselves to each other so completely, so quickly. Yet, in some ways, it also felt natural. They shared so many things in common, and complemented each other well. They both had an abject terror of other students, not for no good reason either, and neither was lacking as far as their brains were concerned, but it was the simple double act form of bond they were developing that made their every moment together so enjoyable. Myrtle would make a joke, Hermione would feign indifference, Myrtle would pretend to blow up with anger, and both would collapse in hysterics. It was stupid, nonsensical and thoroughly illogical, and Hermione loved every moment of it.

The thoughts of Myrtle outside of the horror of the experience Hermione had seen today cemented her feelings that despite everything, her decision to apparently rush into accepting the most private and terrifying secret Myrtle could show her had been an intuitive one and completely natural. She couldn't have responded any other way than to accept, and she knew Myrtle would do the same in turn when Hermione confessed her secrets. She had none as dark as _murder_ , but still, she had her shames, the things she was afraid of admitting, even to herself, and it highlighted to her just how extraordinary the Myrtle beneath the 'moaning' truly was that it had been her who initiated the exchange of such intimate experiences.

Hermione rolled again in her bed, still wrestling with the memory she had seen, but now, as her thoughts dwelt on Myrtle, her feelings changed. She wasn't going to be afraid of this killer, or his pet monster, and she certainly wasn't going to be scared out of seeking to find both and destroy them. That, really, was the most extraordinary thing of all. Myrtle had awoken something in Hermione she had never imagined she could ever have had.

She had awoken the lion in Hermione, the one the sorting hat had assured her was there inside her, and though it might not be as fiery or strong as a Gryffindor, she knew she would now stand by Myrtle, and anyone she saw being bullied, and do her best to help. Did it still scare her? _Hell yes_ it did, but she would master that terror.

After all, what were a few idiotic hexes and pranks, compared to that hideous, leering face she had seen in Myrtle's mind. What were _they_ compared to _that_?

 **A few days later, Unknown location**

 _The boy was progressing well. All the Death Eaters here said so, and to Nagini's eyes, serpent though she may be, he certainly could hold his own. Neither Nott, Goyle, or that maniac Lestrange had managed to break his shield as he successfully repelled three casts of the Cruciatus, before responding in kind. Nagini had to admit, to her, seeing Lestrange do the shrieking was a welcome change._

 _Her master thought highly of her, Bellatrix was it? Nagini knew, though, that her master thought highly only insofar as Lestrange could wield a wand, and do so effectively, as well as show slavish devotion to him. In truth, Nagini sensed from her connection to him that he saw more value in her, a snake, as an ally. Something or, Nagini thought haughtily,_ _ **someone**_ _who could offer more than simple mindless devotion, but thoughtful, considered friendship._

 _To some, the thought that the Dark Lord might be capable of friendship seemed impossible. The truth, as always, was different. Nagini knew, she just knew innately, that though the shadow that inhabited her master was dominant, and extraordinarily powerful, nothing is ever truly black and white. Lone serpent like her he may be, but like her too, he was not immune to the desire for a close and trusted companion. That Nagini had that honour of serving this role was more than a little intoxicating, and the feeling of closeness and calm she felt wrapped around her master's shoulders never ceased to be wonderful._

 _Still, she shook her head side to side a little, knowing it would not do to be distracted from her task, least of all by jealously for Lestrange, though Nagini herself would never admit that was what it was._

 _Turning her attention back to the boy, she was surprised to see he was standing alone in the ring,the bloodied and broken bodies of the, presumably unconsciousness and to her mind thoroughly dispensable, Death Eater minions littered the ring around him. It seemed he had won again._

 _This was interesting, the boy clearly was improving and yet, for all his power, showed no resistance at all to the imperius curse upon him. Nagini knew enough from her master to know this curse was meant to be virtually impossible to resist, so she should have felt secure in this knowledge. Yet..._

 _He had broken it before, and that meant he could do it again, probably would do it again too. But here he was, loyally battling and studying, never questioning his confinement, or the tasks he was made to perform, not even slightly. Nagini was astute enough to sense there was something odd about this, but she didn't care to analyse it too deeply. Her master was the better for that task, and if he wasn't worried, she wasn't worried._

 _As she slithered away to hunt, confident in these thoughts, she didn't notice the boy turn to look at her retreating form. If she had, the expression he gave her would have given her pause. There was no blank look of imperiused compliance there. There was only the cool appraisal of a thinking boy._

 _A thinking boy, with a mind of his own._


End file.
